My first words were never heard,
For when I was a child
This untrained, shaking pen was stirred
To speak in colors wild.
It showed me everything I was:
The dreams I used to know,
The trembling anger, gentle love,
Stories of long ago.
We painted secrets till I found
My heart upon the page,
Beating softly through the sound
Of every cherished phrase.
And so we danced, the pen and I,
Through diaries and thoughts,
Through gates that guarded every sigh—
The gates that we unlocked.
Yet as my murky mind matured,
My trembling hands grew steady;
My dreams were dreams, my words were words,
My pens were old and heavy.
Some fire nearly dried to ash,
Yet something saved the flame:
It caught the tears and dreams and laughs,
So every spark remains.
It was my pen that carried me
From ignorance to bliss,
From dreams I dream to dreams I see,
From childhood to this.
And when I long for anything
My fire burned away,
I find my footprints in the ink—
My hardened, timeless clay.
These scribbled tears and blurry scenes
Are always mine to hold,
For when I see my ancient dreams,
I am seven years old.
My pen whispered the secret words
That no one else could see.
So my first words were never heard
By anyone but me.
I totally thought I posted this months ago… it’s only been, I don’t know, WAY TO STINKING LONG since I last did anything on this precious website!!!